Flesh and Blood
by Jem Ember
Summary: "For we wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this world, against spiritual wickedness in high places." Ephesians 6:12 I have been working on this fan fiction for over a year (originally in script form) and since then similar events have taken place on-screen. This is entirely coincidental.
1. Introduction

Introduction

The girl was silent when she needed to be, when she had to hold back her tangled emotions for fear of them choking her to death. Instead, they lay in a knot in the pit of her stomach. A knot that grew ever tighter with each passing day. She was also a convincing liar – again, when she needed to be. The cruel hand of fate had forced her to carry out many a desperate act.

The boy had watched it unfold all these years, filled with the same sorrow he was sure she too constantly carried with her. It was a precarious balancing act. Sometimes, his sadness would reach the surface and tip over the edges, but he rarely saw the girl allow hers to. The last time he had seen a tear trickle down her cheek and her lip tremble was the last time that they had really hugged – three years ago. On the radio, they heard the song that had been played at their parents' funeral. Since that last real hug, she either pulled away too soon or pushed him away. Eventually, he had stopped trying.

He kept watching, though. She was impossible to ignore when she was laughing, joking and teasing. Or when she told a story, elaborating and embellishing upon the truth; when she wore that stubborn scowl on her face; or when she was lost in thought, concocting their latest cunning scheme. He had found it even more impossible to ignore her defiant nature - so in sync with his own - especially when it landed them both in trouble.

But he had taken his eyes off her.

A siren sounds, as though she needs reminding of the events of the night before. The woman, Irene, pats the girl's arm as she pulls her car over to allow the ambulance to pass. "Nearly there, love," Irene says, with a reassuring smile. She drops her hand, realising the girl's arm has tensed. "Not far now..."


	2. Fire and Rain

"This is it?" she asks Irene. Her voice is hoarse. "I mean, are we there?"

"Home Sweet Home," she replies, stopping the car in front of a pretty white house overlooking the beach.

"Cosy retirement home, eh?"

"Oi, cheeky!"

"So, do you live alone or... is there a Mr. Roberts?"

"I told you, girlie; I'm single, free and young at heart," Irene explains, slightly exasperated. To avoid any awkward silence, she hadn't stopped talking for the duration of the journey; answering questions the girl hadn't even asked – until now. "But I do live with the high school headmistress, actually. I told you that, too."

"Old battleaxe, is she?"

"Were you even listenin' to a word I was sayin' the whole way from the city?"

The girl looks at her feet. Her forced smile fades. She had been thinking about the boy, of course. There is a moment of silence, before she gets out of the car. Irene follows suit.

"Listen, love," she begins, "I know the circumstances that brought you here are so, so tragic and I am so sorry that it is the case, but, I just want you to know that you shouldn't feel guilty for havin' the opportunity to find a real home again. If everything goes well, you're welcome to stay here for as long as you want to and I hope you'll soon feel part of our dysfunctional little family. I mean it."

"You're used to this, aren't you?"

"I've had plenty of practice, yeah, and they stayed with me longer than was necessary, a lot of the time. So I must be doin' somethin' right."

"I shouldn't want to be here, Irene, I should just want Toby back. I DO just want Toby back... I'm sorry, Irene, I can't do this right now..." She flees toward the beach.

_EARLIER THAT DAY IN THE DINER_

_Irene sighs as she puts down the phone._

_"Another male admirer?" inquires her housemate, Bianca, as she waits for her breakfast. Today being a Saturday, she could afford to take it easy._

_ "I wish... No, er – it was a DOCS case worker. They needed to know if I could take on a foster placement. It's an emergency, apparently, one of the care homes in the city burned down last night."_

_"Seriously? That's terrible."_

_"Yeah, poor kids."_

_"So you're going to take one under your wing in their hour of need, Saint Irene?"_

_"Well, to be honest, it doesn't sound like I have much choice – they said there's a limited number of foster homes available in the area at such short notice – but April's room's only collectin' dust, anyway, so why turn away a homeless child?"_

_"I know they've just lost their home and everything, but what if whoever they have in mind for you is... a brat?"_

_"She's a fourteen-year-old. You don't think I could take her? I've taken on quite a few teenage girls in my time, Bianca, including your sister – remember?"_

_"Oh I know you could, but I'm worried she would take advantage of your hospitality, stress you out too much – you are still in recovery, Irene," Bianca frowns. "How much longer are you going to keep this fostering thing up?"_

_"Bianca love, you don't need to worry about me. She'll behave as long as she's under my roof or I'll set Heath on her - or you, come to think of it."_

_"I have enough children to chastise, thank you very much... but, I suppose, if this is going ahead, she will soon be one of my pupils?"_

_"There's no way out of it, girlie, it's an emergency. Oh and apparently, she requested a beach."_

_"Oh God... What's her name?"_

_"Er... Beatrix Brentlington, I think - quite a mouthful."_

_"I would say 'Princess' but her having been in care, I doubt it."_

_"Who's this?" asks Leah._

_"Another stray Irene wants to take in."_

_"Leah, did you know about the kid's home burning down?"_

_"Oh, is that what your phone call was about? Yeah, I read it in the paper, it's such a tragedy. Have a look if you want - free of charge, of course," she offers, before rushing off to serve a customer._

_"Well, Beatrix certainly hasn't had it easy these past few hours, that's for sure," begins Irene. "It says here: _

_'A teenage resident, Tobias Brentlington, age fifteen, lost his life in the incident. He had implored fire-fighters on the scene to lead his adoptive sister to safety before himself, after they had found themselves in difficulty when part of the floor collapsed. Unfortunately, fire crews were unable to reach the youth. It is likely alcohol was involved, however, it is not yet certain how the blaze began nor if it was accidental or... otherwise.'_

_ I can't even imagine how she's feelin'... the poor girl..."_

_"Oh God, I feel awful now... " mutters Bianca._

_"So you should, girlie... I'm just kidding. I'll go collect her from the city hospital ASAP then, shall I? I better ask Leah for the day off and you better have the welcoming party ready and waiting for when we return - some food, light refreshments, the whole Motley Crew assembled - that sort of thing? Oh and her room needs vacuuming. There's a dear."_

_Bianca utters a cry of despair, as Irene leaves, chuckling._

The younger Riverboys stand in a huddle, surfboard-in-hand, admiring Nina as she walks by. Beatrix watches from afar, in the dunes, as they throw a few shrill wolf-whistles in the other girl's direction. Nina ignores them and continues walking, but Jaden follows. She walks faster.

"Hey, wait up! Aren't you gonna say hello? That's not very friendly," he calls after her. "We are neighbours, after all!"

Nina doesn't respond.

"Oh, playing hard to get, are we? That's okay, I like a chase. I'm Jaden... and you are?"

"Not interested."

"C'mon, babe, you don't mean that," he says, putting his arm around her shoulders.

"DON'T TOUCH ME," says Nina firmly, pushing him away. "And yeah, I meant that."

"Okay! Sorry, crazy chick," Jaden pretends to retreat, holding his hands up, but when she turns her back, he pats her on the bottom.

"Hey!"

"Hate to see you leave, love to watch you go..." he teases. The Riverboys' lewd jeers increase in volume and he high-fives the nearest one.

"Pig!" exclaims Nina.

Beatrix notices a towel, matching his surfboard, in the sand not far away. Clothes are lying beside it. She quickly searches the pockets for a lighter. She is in luck.

Eventually, an incredulous Jaden charges up to her, as she stands over the flames. "Hey, you! What did you do that for?!"

"Harrassment."

"Earlier? That was just a lil' pat on the bum – she was flattered, she just couldn't show it cos she's got a boyfriend," he explains. "I bet you're jealous, aren't cha? That's what this is really about! Well, there's plenty of me to go round, sweetheart, all you gotta do is ask. No need to go to such extreme measures to get my attention, even though it worked. You do look pretty rough around the edges but I reckon you'd scrub up alright. What do we think, boys?"

Murmurs of consent ripple through the gathering. Jaden eyes her up and down. By way of response, she kicks him where it hurts and hoots of laughter ensue.

"I ain't one of your pathetic groupies - being a River Boy doesn't impress me."

"Jeez – okay - sorry, Ginger," he gasps in pain.

"My NAME is Trix - and yeah, I've got plenty more of those up my sleeve..." she warns, backing away. She puts up her hood as raindrops begin to fall. "Keep in out of the rain now, babe, won't you? Or you'll catch your death... hopefully."


	3. Care Home Kid

Ignoring the scrutinising stares from customers, Trix perches on a bar stool in Angelo's, swinging one leg and strumming her fingers against the polished surface impatiently. She can see her own reflection glaring back up at her. Glaring? Had the incident on the beach really irritated her that much? That boy was a pest; like a moth to a flame, he was drawn to trouble. That, she could identify with, but such blatant sexual harassment as that _Neanderthal _had displayed was unacceptable. He had needed to be taught a lesson. He deserved worse, in her opinion.

_"Still, rein it in," _She thinks to herself. _"You don't want to make an enemy of everyone, do you?" _She is conflicted. For the first time in a long time, she needs to make people like her- what's more, she WANTS to make people like her. Yet, how can she when she doesn't even like herself? Irene was probably already offended- Trix suspected Irene would come to regret her earlier pledge of loyalty- and part of her dreaded crossing paths with that River Boy again. Still, she could use a play-thing... anything to take her mind off-

"What's a girl gotta do to get a drink round here- Waiter?" She beckons a passing figure clad in black, who saunters around the bar to stand opposite her, leaning on the counter. He loosely wears an amused expression, barely concealing the weariness in his chiselled features. They are set with what are, most likely, frown lines although he is probably only early to mid-thirties. Muscled biceps and torso are evident beneath the regulation black t-shirt.

"Don't answer that."

"Can I help you? Or are you just... waiting on your parents or somethin'?" enquires Brax.

"Er, what parent would allow their child to go out looking like... THIS?" Her ginger curls are still dishevelled and entwined with remnants of ash and debris, her scratched skin and dusty clothes are dotted with burn marks.

"You obviously don't know my mother," the bartender replies good-naturedly to ease her embarrassment. Not that this strange girl seems to care that she looks like she's been dragged through a hedge backwards, but he feels sorry for her. For a split second, her emerald eyes look lost and so... troubled. She glances away.

"She still dresses you, then?" Trix teases. She wasn't going to accept anyone's sympathy.

"Fell into that, didn't I?" Brax chuckles.

"Perfectly."

"So, what _IS_ a young girl like you doin' in a place like this all on your lonesome? Are you new to town or just passing through?"

"Yes and yes."

"Which is it?"

"It _IS_ none of your beeswax, mister."

"I asked for that."

"Gullible, much?"

"Hang on, you're not on the run, are you? Only, harbouring a teenage tearaway wouldn't exactly be good for business," he says, pointing at the hospital wristband hanging from her wrist, peeking out from underneath the torn sleeve of her hoody. As she tugs the sleeve down over her hand, she notices the black letters imprinted along his own outstretched arm and pointing hand.

"A smart respectable-looking girl like moi? As if!"

"I'm never gonna get a straight answer, am I?"

"Unlikely. So, who's the lucky girl?" she asks, indicating the tattoo on his hand. He looks startled. "Let me guess- none of _my_ beeswax, right? Maybe we should- Shall we try this again?"

"Yes. Right," He clears his throat, "Good afternoon, how may I help you, miss?"

"May I have a bottle of your finest lemonade, if you please, dear sir?"

"Certainly, miss. Coming right up."

"That's more like it."

"$3.50 – please," requests Brax, taking the ice-cold bottle from the fridge and handing it to Trix. She quickly sets it on the counter, as though it stings her skin.

"Come again?" she blinks.

"If you prefer, you can get a juice from the surf club. It's right downstairs."

"No, I'm just getting comfortable and yes, I _know_ I didn't adhere to the dress code but I'm pretty sure the pity-party in the corner's scaring off more customers than I am- talk about a mood-killer," she slides the money across the counter to Brax and gestures towards Kyle, who is singing a sombre acoustic ballad, guitar in hand.

"Well, it's open mic night," Brax says.

"And who's the loser?"

"My brother."

"Well, you can tell your brother that some karaoke would be much more entertaining-"

"-Oi, bro! Where's my pizza?" demands Heath, as he struts from the doorway towards them.

"I've got three," Brax explains to Trix, as she glances over her shoulder at Heath.

"Lucky you," The girl remarks as she turns away to jump off the stool and approach Kyle, but not before Brax catches a glint of something unreadable pass across her eyes. He wasn't sure if what she said was sarcastic or not.

"The kitchen's behind on schedule so you'll just have to wait like everybody else, Heath." He sighs.

"Better be worth it or there'll be hell to pay, dear brother, Bianca means business."

"When does she not?! How many did you order?"

"A couple- for the welcoming party."

"Oh yeah, Irene's got that care home kid arriving..."

"Except she's only gone and done a runner, hasn't she?"

Dawning recognition crosses Brax's face. Heath follows his gaze towards Trix, who has somehow stolen the microphone from Kyle and begun to wail "I Knew You Were Trouble" by Taylor Swift off-key. Brax chuckles again as Heath's face falls.

"You're kiddin' me..."


	4. Pity Party

As Kyle strums the final chords of "Sweet Child of Mine", the audience breaks into a round of applause, with their smiling, bemused and surprised faces turned towards him and this strange girl with flaming hair. God knows where she came from - the streets by the look of her - but it's just as well she had. The customers didn't seem interested in him before she had interrupted his 'pity party', as she had called it, and besides, he wasn't a very confident singer. This girl, on the other hand, was bold as brass, though he was sure it was nerves that had caused her initial discordant crooning, which had improved with each song. They had played three, the penultimate ("Don't Stop Me Now") being an instant hit. Like a few of the onlookers, he had protested at first, but now he had to admit, he was impressed.

"Bravo, bravo!" congratulates Jett from the front row and whistles, though unlike how the Riverboys had before.

She bows extravagantly before the cheering crowd, as Heath approaches the side of the low stage.

"Make a habit of embarrassing yourself, do ya?" Heath interjects, addressing the girl.

"Only on special occasions," she replies dryly, as she passes him on her return to the bar.

"'Special' would be right..."

"_Heath_," Brax scowls.

"Relax, Brax. Beatrix knows I'm only messing, don't ya? But seriously, what sort of name is _Beatrix_?"

Trix considers asking them both the same question, but decides to let it go. "So you're the infamous Heath," she states, instead. "Irene warned me about you. Her exact words were "_not the sharpest tool in the shed, he often puts his foot in it as soon as he opens his mouth_." Don't disappoint- DO YA?"

"Heath? Never!" Brax jokes feebly, in an attempt to diffuse the tension.

"As much fun as this is, WE'VE got a welcoming party to get to – YOUR welcoming party, which you're an hour and a half late for," Heath informs her. Kyle, who had been listening intently, is confused. He wanders over to the bar. What does his brother have to do with 'Beatrix'?

"But we were just getting started! You were really good!" Kyle protests. Trix is not the only one who looks taken aback. "I mean, the customers were really into it, once you'd stopped... shrieking – I'll, erm (clears throat) get back to it..."

"Emo, wait." Trix blocks his path.

"My name's Kyle."

"Mine's Trix."

"Isn't that like the sort of name you would give to a dog or something?" Heath laughs. His brothers glance at him with the same withering look. Trix chooses to ignore him.

"Same time next week, Kyle?"

"-If you're still here-" remarks Heath. Only Kyle notices her flinch ever so slightly and her face hardens.

"Brax?" enquires Kyle, seeking his approval.

"Karaoke night?" Brax replies. "Yeah, why not? Seems to be a hit, I think we can give it a fair go."

"You won't regret it," Kyle assures him. Heath rolls his eyes.

"Hold the phone, what about your open mic night? I stole your limelight, remember?" asks Trix, a little bewildered. _Have I actually found an ally in this guy?_ She thinks to herself. _Or, more likely, he just wants to capitalise on my potential- but what potential? All I've done is have a good time, which is quite an achievement, considering-_

"Don't change your plans on my account. This was just a spontaneous thing, you only live once and all that."

"But you just asked-" begins Kyle, even more confused.

"It's Saturday night, people want to be entertained- like you said," Brax points out to her. "And I think you succeeded there," he adds, indicating the still-buzzing crowd. A middle-aged man seems to be considering if he should follow Trix's lead, but stumbles over when stepping up onto the stage. He laughs drunkenly, as someone helps him to his feet. "C'mon, don't chicken out now." Brax unveils one of his dazzling smiles, just for her. It reminds Trix of a line in a book she had read, not long ago; "_he had one of those rare smiles with a quality of eternal reassurance in it_."

"Well, it's karaoke so anyone could do it, not just me, right?" Trix asks, just to make sure. She couldn't always be the centre of attention, after all. "Oh what the hell, you're on." She high-fives both of them.

"Sweet... and we can always hold open mic another night- Friday, maybe?" Kyle wonders aloud.

"As much as I'd love to stand around yakking all day like old women," Heath interjects, once again. "I've got better things I could be doing with my time so, if you don't mind, I'd like my pizza today, guys." His younger brother obediently retreats to the kitchen.

Brax sighs. "It's coming, I told you-"

"-Yeah, so is Christmas-"

"Well, feel free to piss off and leave us alone until then, Heathcliff- or whatever your name is. You can_ have_ your pizza and your beer in front of the footy, don't let us stop you. You're only doing this because you _need_ to keep wifey happy, who needs to keep Auntie Irene happy and who says I even _want _a meet and greet, anyway?" Trix exclaims, raising her voice enough to attract attention. "Do you expect me to be grateful?"

"We're still going," Heath mutters, grabbing her firmly by the wrist. Brax opens his mouth to object.

"Get off me!" she snarls, abruptly wrenching it from his grasp. "And you can stick your party hat where the sun doesn't shine!" People are beginning to stare. Brax wonders if there's anything he can do to contain the situation, without earning either a rude retort, loud enough for the whole restaurant to hear, or a slap in the face. Or punch. She seems like a punching kind of girl. As though reading his mind, Heath again takes hold -albeit gently this time- of her arm.

"Play nice, sweet cheeks, no need for-" Heath is cut off, as she promptly throws the contents of her bottle in his face. It then hits the floor with a satisfying _splash_. In the background, a few people gasp. Jett hoots with laughter. All eyes are now on them.

"Now, what did you waste $3.50 on him for?" Brax smirks. The customers relax a little and some resume their chatter.

"Worth every cent," Trix tells him, still staring down a stunned Heath. "You can tell the missus and Irene that I'll make my own way back, thanks, without a chaperone." She pauses. "Go on, run along. Oh, and actually, I'll take one, just in case you eat them both out of sheer spite on the way." She adds, as Kyle emerges from the kitchen, two flat cardboard boxes in hand. He stops in his tracks when he clocks what has occurred during his brief absence. He fails to conceal a smile.

"Er... one margherita and one BBQ chicken, was it?" Kyle asks Heath, who is blinking gormlessly at Trix. Liquid is trickling down his face, dripping from his chin and nose into his gaping mouth, and he appears not to have heard him. Brax nods for Heath and takes the boxes from Kyle, before presenting them with a flourish; Service With a Smile. Standards have to be maintained, no matter what his latest customer has just done to his brother. Frankly, it is _because_ of what she has just done to his brother that he feels like patting her on the back.

"Ah, my favourite," Trix replies, grabbing the BBQ chicken pizza before Heath can reach it and flashes a grin at him. "What are you waiting for, Heathcliff? Pay the man."

"That was mine," he grumbles under his breath, wiping his face with his trademark tank top.

"They're on the house," Brax says, before adding, "Despite the fact that someone's going to have to mop that spill up now; Health and Safety precaution."

"Don't look at me, I've got my party to get to and anyway, he deserved it," Trix mumbles, through a mouthful of pizza. "And I think I'll take my business elsewhere to replace my lemonade with something cheaper. Oh and give my compliments to the chef, would you, Darryl?"

"Bye then," Kyle waves, but she has already started towards the doorway, the pizza box under one arm, munching on the slice of pizza in her other hand.

She has already left by the time Brax realises. He doesn't remember either telling her his legal name, nor the boys addressing him as such. He is still pondering this later in the evening while cleaning tables. As he reaches to wipe off some salt that has been spilled – or poured – he notices that letters have been traced in the salt to form a word. Not just a word, but a name: "_Taylor_".

The welcoming party passed much too slowly, it was an awkward and drawn-out affair for everyone involved. Most of all for Heath, who had agreed to pretend that this was their first meeting. He had arrived shortly after her, despite the fact that she had taken her time choosing her order at the juice bar. He obviously was wishing he could avoid this as much as she was. He reminded her that the pizza was getting cold._ Forget about the damn pizza for a minute, _she wanted to say, but instead, told him to say nothing of what had happened in the restaurant. Unless he was going to apologise in front of everyone for how rude he had been to her. He thought about it for a moment, before consenting to the plan, but reluctantly apologised, anyway. She had been hovering on the doorstep, wondering what angle she should attack this from. Should she pretend to be indifferent, hide her feelings, say hello and go straight to her room (wherever that was)? Should she sit in the corner, looking sad and moody in the hope that no-one would bother her? Or should she put on a brave face, again hiding her feelings, and make small talk? She had just decided upon the latter, when Heath had rocked up, in new clothes – Semi-formal clothes, in fact; jeans and a plaid shirt this time. He told her that he had to make it look like he'd decided to dress up for her arrival after all, and not because he'd had an _accident_,as he put it.

"First impressions 'n' all, eh?" he had joked, wryly. _Back at you_, she could have said, but didn't.

Irene had interrupted them then, saying that she thought she heard voices and ushered them inside. Heath covered for her, saying that they had just met on the doorstep, so she was helping him carry in the food, which would have looked suspicious if he hadn't also brought along some bags of Doritos and popcorn. He pretended that he was so hungry that he had eaten the two missing slices of BBQ chicken pizza already, which earned him a playful slap on the wrist from Bianca. They had been expecting her, she informed Trix, in imitation of a Bond villain. _As if I don't already know_, she thought but apologised for her lateness. The three girls had formed a rather military-looking line in the kitchen to greet her; Bianca first, then April, then Darcy.

"Am I sensing a trend here?" Trix enquired. "Darcy, Heath... any Rochesters I should know about?" The adults had laughed, except for Heath who, like his daughter, obviously didn't understand the reference.

"Oh, they're characters – from books," Bianca explained to them both, before turning back to Trix. "Something he isn't very well acquainted with," she paused to give a cordial chortle of laughter, "but I love him no less." They smiled at each other, the love evident in their expressions and in their eyes. _Please, don't make me sick_, Trix had thought, in more of a mental plea than an insult.

"Oh, a muggle, is he?" she had replied with instead and smiled down at Darcy. Hopefully she would understand this time. Trix knew how it felt to be out of the loop in grown-up conversations.

"I think it's pretty obvious," Darcy giggled.

"Hey, Darc! Don't judge a book by its cover, remember?" April chided, playfully. Compared to her and her sister's bronzed beauty, Trix felt like a white rat – a ginger, freckled white rat.

It had gone downhill from there. The pool of polite chit-chat, although pleasant, had dried up soon enough. It was as though they remembered why they had gathered and felt guilty and unsure about being cheerful around her, but didn't relish the prospect of the alternative. Instead, they settled for a mood somewhere in-between and ate mostly in silence, avoiding addressing the reality of the situation. Irene had switched on the TV to create some background noise. No-one could really concentrate on it. There was the occasional brief trickle of information someone had recalled, as they filtered through their mind for something – anything – to share, while mostly avoiding the subject of family, Trix noticed. Although, Bianca had explained that she was not Darcy's mother but how Irene was like a mother to April and herself. The topics covered had been from Bianca and Heath's impending nuptials to April's university degree to even Darcy's favourite food in the diner, which at that moment were pancakes with ice-cream, although it changed every day, Heath had pointed out. Trix promised her that she would try them for herself someday.

As the atmosphere changed, Heath only felt comfortable talking to his daughter and kept telling her bad jokes, which she apparently found hilarious. Nobody else did. They smiled feebly back at him and he knew there was something that everyone was thinking but avoiding saying, but he didn't know what. He didn't even know why this strange poor-looking girl had suddenly shown up in Summer Bay, other than Irene was fostering her and that it was at short-notice. This fourteen-year-old girl, Beatrix, desperately needed a place to stay and had been assigned to Irene, who wanted them to organise some sort of party to welcome her, and he had to be there at four o'clock, was all Bianca had told him, on her way back from the diner that morning. She was a surfer, he knew, as Irene had asked him to lift her surfboard off the roof of the car. Irene had told him – told them all – when she had returned from the city, that the girl needed some fresh air and had disappeared, likely to the beach. They had waited as long as they could before ordering the pizza, and when that had taken its sweet time, they had sent Heath out to retrieve it, in the hope that he might bump into an untidy-looking redhead on the way. You could say that they had bumped into one another, or rather; the lemonade bottle had bumped into him.

Eventually, April cracked and offered Trix her most sincere condolences, on behalf of everyone. She thanked her but said she didn't want to talk about it. Bianca admitted that she had been the same when their son had died last year, whereas Heath had been the opposite. Trix paled. She exchanged glances with Heath, who bore the same expression she did, as each recognised the other's pain. Now, Heath felt ashamed of his earlier behaviour, he had been such a jerk to her, and all because – Trix was right – he would rather be at home watching the game than stuck here; outnumbered by chicks, even if two of them were the two people he loved more than anyone in the world. Trix almost felt guilty for her earlier actions towards him. He seemed like a good dad, at least. Darcy revealed that her mother was dead, too. In an odd detached voice, Trix told them all that she was sorry for their loss, before making the excuse that she needed to use the bathroom. Irene pointed the way.

"And feel free to use the shower while you're in there," Irene called after her, not unkindly.

She had emerged from the bathroom half an hour later, wrapped in the largest towel she could find. Everyone had dispersed but Irene, who told her that April had left some of her old clothes in her room that was now Trix's and that she could change into them. They weren't her style at all but, to her relief, she found some baggy sweatpants and a loose-fitting black T-shirt among the skirts, shorts, dresses and low cut girly tops. To her surprise, Irene had bought her new underwear, thankfully. Even fully clothed, having been stripped of all her belongings, she still felt a sense of nakedness. Apart from her surfboard and her wetsuit, that she had begged Irene to take her back to the care home's garage for, she had nothing other than the clothes that had been on her back – and her mobile phone in one pocket, she realised, as it began to ring. Her DOCS case worker had given her same money to compensate, or rather, she had given it to Irene for safe-keeping, who had allowed Trix to have $10 of it as pocket money. Everything else had been lost in the fire.

The ringtone was "We Can't Stop" by Miley Cyrus - Toby had set it, as a joke, knowing how much she disliked the song. She shuddered. It was someone from the care home checking up on her, but she had let it go to voicemail. She would listen to it later, for they likely would leave one, but she didn't have the strength to talk to anyone from her old life; anyone who knew Toby. It felt strange to think of it already as her 'old life' and this as her new. Twenty four hours ago, she was still back there and everything was normal – as if her life could be described as 'normal'. The care worker would keep trying every hour until she picked up though, she was sure of that. With a sigh, she switched it off and tried to sleep for a few hours, her weariness finally catching up with her. She had lain awake the remainder of the night before, in that rigid hospital bed and tossed and turned in turmoil. Not from any physical pain, not really. She had let both the hospital breakfast and lunch turn cold. Even the sight of the stodgy porridge that early in the morning, had not only made her feel like she was either in prison or that orphanage from "Oliver", but had turned her stomach so much that she threw up over the nurse, who was later trying to coax her into having some soup (which she would have gladly thrown over her too) when her DOCS case worker had introduced her to Irene. That had seemed to be the theme of the day; throwing various liquids over practical strangers.

After an eventual three hours of broken sleep plagued by nightmares – even worse than usual – Trix crept out of the house (the keys weren't hard to find) to look for her surfing gear in the garage. It was still dark, but dawn was close. It wasn't the first time that she had sat on the beach waiting for the sun to come up, before a very early morning surf. Although, it is the first time that she has on this particular beach. It is a new beginning.

She sits thinking over all the things that have occurred since she arrived in Summer Bay. She would've appreciated the effort of Irene, et cetera, if it hadn't been for their misguided intentions. She doesn't deserve their pity. She thinks of Darcy, who is all sweetness and light. She can't remember the last time she had felt like that. Actually, no, she could. It was the day her parents had died – before they had died, obviously. They had been away on a family day out, to the small coastal town where her adoptive father had grown up, not unlike this one. They had spent almost the whole fun-filled day on the beach. She supposed that was why she always felt drawn towards the nearest one, which had previously been in Sydney, because it was the last place they had all been truly happy and carefree – and together.

On the drive home, her seven-year-old self and her adoptive brother, eight-year-old Toby, had been greedy enough to eat all her sweets between them, but he had decided to save his and refused to share. She tried to grab his paper bag from him and a fight had ensued. Their mother (Toby's mother, she wasn't hers – biologically) had taken off her seatbelt to reach into the back seat and take the sweets from him, but he kicked out at her, making her arm jerk back to hit his father's. The car swerved into the on-coming traffic.

They are the only deaths she can bear thinking about right now. It is a dull, familiar pain – more like an ache, really - that she had learned to deal with, to live with, unlike the fresh, raw, stabbing despair of Toby's death that she isn't allowing herself to feel just yet. Not fully, but it would come. She expects it, knows what it will feel like and knows it is only a matter of time. She had caught occasional flickers of the night before, but forced the memories down, only for them to resurface in her nightmares. For the past twelve hours or more she had tried to only reminisce on his life and the memories they shared. That was what she must focus on, to prevent herself from breaking down completely. That is what she still must focus on, for as long as she has strength to. Even through her longest and darkest nights, she had never felt as alone as she did now. At least he had still been there then, a few doors down the hallway; her only comfort. _Now I have Irene_,_ with her pertinacious snoring, _Trix reminds herself, almost forgetting where she is, _but there is still hope_. Immediately, she feels guilty. _Why should you have hope? He doesn't, not anymore. Why should you get a second chance? _Inhaling deeply, she draws the lighter she had taken from Jaden from her pocket and relights the candle – more like a tea light, really – that she had brought with her from Irene's. The flame had flickered out on the way down the path, despite her attempts to shield it from the slight sea breeze. She exhales slowly and steadily as she approaches the shoreline, the water lapping over her toes. The cold shock sends a shiver down her spine. It makes a somewhat welcome change from the raging heat of the fire that lingered on her skin. Before she realises, she has waded in waist deep and stops to put the candle inside an empty jam jar – also stolen from Irene; old habits die hard. She screws the lid closed and sets it upright on her surfboard, her chin keeping it in place, and paddles out as far as she dares to release it on the water, kissing the glass before letting it go. As the golden edge of the sun peers over the skyline, she whispers, _I'm sorry,_ and watches the speck of light drift away.

As Kyle strums the final chords of "Sweet Child of Mine", the audience breaks into a round of applause, with their smiling, bemused and surprised faces turned towards him and this strange girl with flaming hair. God knows where she came from- the streets by the look of her- but it's just as well she had. The customers didn't seem interested in him before she had interrupted his 'pity party', as she had called it, and besides, he wasn't a very confident singer. This girl, on the other hand, was bold as brass, though he was sure it was nerves that had caused her initial discordant crooning, which had improved with each song. They had played three, the penultimate ("Don't Stop Me Now") being an instant hit. Like a few of the onlookers, he had protested at first, but now he had to admit, he was impressed.

"Bravo, bravo!" congratulates Jett from the front row and whistles, though unlike how the Riverboys had before.

She bows extravagantly before the cheering crowd, as Heath approaches the side of the low stage.

"Make a habit of embarrassing yourself, do ya?" Heath interjects, addressing the girl.

"Only on special occasions," she replies dryly, as she passes him on her return to the bar.

"'Special' would be right..."

"_Heath_," Brax scowls.

"Relax, Brax. Beatrixknows I'm only messing, don't ya? But seriously, what sort of name is _Beatrix_?"

Trix considers asking them both the same question, but decides to let it go. "So you're the infamous Heath," she states, instead. "Irene warned me about you. Her exact words were "_not the sharpest tool in the shed, he often puts his foot in it as soon as he opens his mouth_." Don't disappoint- DO YA?"

"Heath? Never!" Brax jokes feebly, in an attempt to diffuse the tension.

"As much fun as this is, WE'VE got a welcoming party to get to – YOUR welcoming party, which you're an hour and a half late for," Heath informs her. Kyle, who had been listening intently, is confused. He wanders over to the bar. What does his brother have to do with 'Beatrix'?

"But we were just getting started! You were really good!" Kyle protests. Trix is not the only one who looks taken aback. "I mean, the customers were really into it, once you'd stopped... shrieking – I'll, erm (clears throat) get back to it..."

"Emo, wait." Trix blocks his path.

"My name's Kyle."

"Mine's Trix."

"Isn't that like the sort of name you would give to a dog or something?" Heath laughs. His brothers glance at him with the same withering look. Trix chooses to ignore him.

"Same time next week, Kyle?"

"-If you're still here-" remarks Heath. Only Kyle notices her flinch ever so slightly and her face hardens.

"Brax?" enquires Kyle, seeking his approval.

"Karaoke night?" Brax replies. "Yeah, why not? Seems to be a hit, I think we can give it a fair go."

"You won't regret it," Kyle assures him. Heath rolls his eyes.

"Hold the phone, what about your open mic night? I stole your limelight, remember?" asks Trix, a little bewildered. _Have I actually found an ally in this guy?_ She thinks to herself. _Or, more likely, he just wants to capitalise on my potential- but what potential? All I've done is have a good time, which is quite an achievement, considering-_

"Don't change your plans on my account. This was just a spontaneous thing, you only live once and all that."

"But you just asked-" begins Kyle, even more confused.

"It's Saturday night, people want to be entertained- like you said," Brax points out to her. "And I think you succeeded there," he adds, indicating the still-buzzing crowd. A middle-aged man seems to be considering if he should follow Trix's lead, but stumbles over when stepping up onto the stage. He laughs drunkenly, as someone helps him to his feet. "C'mon, don't chicken out now." Brax unveils one of his dazzling smiles, just for her. It reminds Trix of a line in a book she had read, not long ago; "_he had one of those rare smiles with a quality of eternal reassurance in it_."

"Well, it's karaoke so anyone could do it, not just me, right?" Trix asks, just to make sure. She couldn't always be the centre of attention, after all. "Oh what the hell, you're on." She high-fives both of them.

"Sweet... and we can always hold open mic another night- Friday, maybe?" Kyle wonders aloud.

"As much as I'd love to stand around yakking all day like old women," Heath interjects, once again. "I've got better things I could be doing with my time so, if you don't mind, I'd like my pizza today, guys." His younger brother obediently retreats to the kitchen.

Brax sighs. "It's coming, I told you-"

"-Yeah, so is Christmas-"

"Well, feel free to piss off and leave us alone until then, Heathcliff- or whatever your name is. You can_ have_ your pizza and your beer in front of the footy, don't let us stop you. You're only doing this because you _need_ to keep wifey happy, who needs to keep Auntie Irene happy and who says I even _want _a meet and greet, anyway?" Trix exclaims, raising her voice enough to attract attention. "Do you expect me to be grateful?"

"We're still going," Heath mutters, grabbing her firmly by the wrist. Brax opens his mouth to object.

"Get off me!" she snarls, abruptly wrenching it from his grasp. "And you can stick your party hat where the sun doesn't shine!" People are beginning to stare. Brax wonders if there's anything he can do to contain the situation, without earning either a rude retort, loud enough for the whole restaurant to hear, or a slap in the face. Or punch. She seems like a punching kind of girl. As though reading his mind, Heath again takes hold -albeit gently this time- of her arm.

"Play nice, sweet cheeks, no need for-" Heath is cut off, as she promptly throws the contents of her bottle in his face. It then hits the floor with a satisfying _splash_. In the background, a few people gasp. Jett hoots with laughter. All eyes are now on them.

"Now, what did you waste $3.50 on him for?" Brax smirks. The customers relax a little and some resume their chatter.

"Worth every cent," Trix tells him, still staring down a stunned Heath. "You can tell the missus and Irene that I'll make my own way back, thanks, without a chaperone." She pauses. "Go on, run along. Oh, and actually, I'll take one, just in case you eat them both out of sheer spite on the way." She adds, as Kyle emerges from the kitchen, two flat cardboard boxes in hand. He stops in his tracks when he clocks what has occurred during his brief absence. He fails to conceal a smile.

"Er... one margherita and one BBQ chicken, was it?" Kyle asks Heath, who is blinking gormlessly at Trix. Liquid is trickling down his face, dripping from his chin and nose into his gaping mouth, and he appears not to have heard him. Brax nods for Heath and takes the boxes from Kyle, before presenting them with a flourish; Service With a Smile. Standards have to be maintained, no matter what his latest customer has just done to his brother. Frankly, it is _because_ of what she has just done to his brother that he feels like patting her on the back.

"Ah, my favourite," Trix replies, grabbing the BBQ chicken pizza before Heath can reach it and flashes a grin at him. "What are you waiting for, Heathcliff? Pay the man."

"That was mine," he grumbles under his breath, wiping his face with his trademark tank top.

"They're on the house," Brax says, before adding, "Despite the fact that someone's going to have to mop that spill up now; Health and Safety precaution."

"Don't look at me, I've got my party to get to and anyway, he deserved it," Trix mumbles, through a mouthful of pizza. "And I think I'll take my business elsewhere to replace my lemonade with something cheaper. Oh and give my compliments to the chef, would you, Darryl?"

"Bye then," Kyle waves, but she has already started towards the doorway, the pizza box under one arm, munching on the slice of pizza in her other hand.

She has already left by the time Brax realises. He doesn't remember either telling her his legal name, nor the boys addressing him as such. He is still pondering this later in the evening while cleaning tables. As he reaches to wipe off some salt that has been spilled – or poured – he notices that letters have been traced in the salt to form a word. Not just a word, but a name: "_Taylor_".

The welcoming party passed much too slowly, it was an awkward and drawn-out affair for everyone involved. Most of all for Heath, who had agreed to pretend that this was their first meeting. He had arrived shortly after her, despite the fact that she had taken her time choosing her order at the juice bar. He obviously was wishing he could avoid this as much as she was. He reminded her that the pizza was getting cold._ Forget about the damn pizza for a minute, _she wanted to say, but instead, told him to say nothing of what had happened in the restaurant. Unless he was going to apologise in front of everyone for how rude he had been to her. He thought about it for a moment, before consenting to the plan, but reluctantly apologised, anyway. She had been hovering on the doorstep, wondering what angle she should attack this from. Should she pretend to be indifferent, hide her feelings, say hello and go straight to her room (wherever that was)? Should she sit in the corner, looking sad and moody in the hope that no-one would bother her? Or should she put on a brave face, again hiding her feelings, and make small talk? She had just decided upon the latter, when Heath had rocked up, in new clothes – Semi-formal clothes, in fact; jeans and a plaid shirt this time. He told her that he had to make it look like he'd decided to dress up for her arrival after all, and not because he'd had an _accident_,as he put it.

"First impressions 'n' all, eh?" he had joked, wryly. _Back at you_, she could have said, but didn't.

Irene had interrupted them then, saying that she thought she heard voices and ushered them inside. Heath covered for her, saying that they had just met on the doorstep, so she was helping him carry in the food, which would have looked suspicious if he hadn't also brought along some bags of Doritos and popcorn. He pretended that he was so hungry that he had eaten the two missing slices of BBQ chicken pizza already, which earned him a playful slap on the wrist from Bianca. They had been expecting her, she informed Trix, in imitation of a Bond villain. _As if I don't already know_, she thought but apologised for her lateness. The three girls had formed a rather military-looking line in the kitchen to greet her; Bianca first, then April, then Darcy.

"Am I sensing a trend here?" Trix enquired. "Darcy, Heath... any Rochesters I should know about?" The adults had laughed, except for Heath who, like his daughter, obviously didn't understand the reference.

"Oh, they're characters – from books," Bianca explained to them both, before turning back to Trix. "Something he isn't very well acquainted with," she paused to give a cordial chortle of laughter, "but I love him no less." They smiled at each other, the love evident in their expressions and in their eyes. _Please, don't make me sick_, Trix had thought, in more of a mental plea than an insult.

"Oh, a muggle, is he?" she had replied with instead and smiled down at Darcy. Hopefully she would understand this time. Trix knew how it felt to be out of the loop in grown-up conversations.

"I think it's pretty obvious," Darcy giggled.

"Hey, Darc! Don't judge a book by its cover, remember?" April chided, playfully. Compared to her and her sister's bronzed beauty, Trix felt like a white rat – a ginger, freckled white rat.

It had gone downhill from there. The pool of polite chit-chat, although pleasant, had dried up soon enough. It was as though they remembered why they had gathered and felt guilty and unsure about being cheerful around her, but didn't relish the prospect of the alternative. Instead, they settled for a mood somewhere in-between and ate mostly in silence, avoiding addressing the reality of the situation. Irene had switched on the TV to create some background noise. No-one could really concentrate on it. There was the occasional brief trickle of information someone had recalled, as they filtered through their mind for something – anything – to share, while mostly avoiding the subject of family, Trix noticed. Although, Bianca had explained that she was not Darcy's mother but how Irene was like a mother to April and herself. The topics covered had been from Bianca and Heath's impending nuptials to April's university degree to even Darcy's favourite food in the diner, which at that moment were pancakes with ice-cream, although it changed every day, Heath had pointed out. Trix promised her that she would try them for herself someday.

As the atmosphere changed, Heath only felt comfortable talking to his daughter and kept telling her bad jokes, which she apparently found hilarious. Nobody else did. They smiled feebly back at him and he knew there was something that everyone was thinking but avoiding saying, but he didn't know what. He didn't even know why this strange poor-looking girl had suddenly shown up in Summer Bay, other than Irene was fostering her and that it was at short-notice. This fourteen-year-old girl, Beatrix, desperately needed a place to stay and had been assigned to Irene, who wanted them to organise some sort of party to welcome her, and he had to be there at four o'clock, was all Bianca had told him, on her way back from the diner that morning. She was a surfer, he knew, as Irene had asked him to lift her surfboard off the roof of the car. Irene had told him – told them all – when she had returned from the city, that the girl needed some fresh air and had disappeared, likely to the beach. They had waited as long as they could before ordering the pizza, and when that had taken its sweet time, they had sent Heath out to retrieve it, in the hope that he might bump into an untidy-looking redhead on the way. You could say that they had bumped into one another, or rather; the lemonade bottle had bumped into him.

Eventually, April cracked and offered Trix her most sincere condolences, on behalf of everyone. She thanked her but said she didn't want to talk about it. Bianca admitted that she had been the same when their son had died last year, whereas Heath had been the opposite. Trix paled. She exchanged glances with Heath, who bore the same expression she did, as each recognised the other's pain. Now, Heath felt ashamed of his earlier behaviour, he had been such a jerk to her, and all because – Trix was right – he would rather be at home watching the game than stuck here; outnumbered by chicks, even if two of them were the two people he loved more than anyone in the world. Trix almost felt guilty for her earlier actions towards him. He seemed like a good dad, at least. Darcy revealed that her mother was dead, too. In an odd detached voice, Trix told them all that she was sorry for their loss, before making the excuse that she needed to use the bathroom. Irene pointed the way.

"And feel free to use the shower while you're in there," Irene called after her, not unkindly.

She had emerged from the bathroom half an hour later, wrapped in the largest towel she could find. Everyone had dispersed but Irene, who told her that April had left some of her old clothes in her room that was now Trix's and that she could change into them. They weren't her style at all but, to her relief, she found some baggy sweatpants and a loose-fitting black T-shirt among the skirts, shorts, dresses and low cut girly tops. To her surprise, Irene had bought her new underwear, thankfully. Even fully clothed, having been stripped of all her belongings, she still felt a sense of nakedness. Apart from her surfboard and her wetsuit, that she had begged Irene to take her back to the care home's garage for, she had nothing other than the clothes that had been on her back – and her mobile phone in one pocket, she realised, as it began to ring. Her DOCS case worker had given her same money to compensate, or rather, she had given it to Irene for safe-keeping, who had allowed Trix to have $10 of it as pocket money. Everything else had been lost in the fire.

The ringtone was "We Can't Stop" by Miley Cyrus - Toby had set it, as a joke, knowing how much she disliked the song. She shuddered. It was someone from the care home checking up on her, but she had let it go to voicemail. She would listen to it later, for they likely would leave one, but she didn't have the strength to talk to anyone from her old life; anyone who knew Toby. It felt strange to think of it already as her 'old life' and this as her new. Twenty four hours ago, she was still back there and everything was normal – as if her life could be described as 'normal'. The care worker would keep trying every hour until she picked up though, she was sure of that. With a sigh, she switched it off and tried to sleep for a few hours, her weariness finally catching up with her. She had lain awake the remainder of the night before, in that rigid hospital bed and tossed and turned in turmoil. Not from any physical pain, not really. She had let both the hospital breakfast and lunch turn cold. Even the sight of the stodgy porridge that early in the morning, had not only made her feel like she was either in prison or that orphanage from "Oliver", but had turned her stomach so much that she threw up over the nurse, who was later trying to coax her into having some soup (which she would have gladly thrown over her too) when her DOCS case worker had introduced her to Irene. That had seemed to be the theme of the day; throwing various liquids over practical strangers.

After an eventual three hours of broken sleep plagued by nightmares – even worse than usual – Trix crept out of the house (the keys weren't hard to find) to look for her surfing gear in the garage. It was still dark, but dawn was close. It wasn't the first time that she had sat on the beach waiting for the sun to come up, before a very early morning surf. Although, it is the first time that she has on this particular beach. It is a new beginning.

She sits thinking over all the things that have occurred since she arrived in Summer Bay. She would've appreciated the effort of Irene, et cetera, if it hadn't been for their misguided intentions. She doesn't deserve their pity. She thinks of Darcy, who is all sweetness and light. She can't remember the last time she had felt like that. Actually, no, she could. It was the day her parents had died – before they had died, obviously. They had been away on a family day out, to the small coastal town where her adoptive father had grown up, not unlike this one. They had spent almost the whole fun-filled day on the beach. She supposed that was why she always felt drawn towards the nearest one, which had previously been in Sydney, because it was the last place they had all been truly happy and carefree – and together.

On the drive home, her seven-year-old self and her adoptive brother, eight-year-old Toby, had been greedy enough to eat all her sweets between them, but he had decided to save his and refused to share. She tried to grab his paper bag from him and a fight had ensued. Their mother (Toby's mother, she wasn't hers – biologically) had taken off her seatbelt to reach into the back seat and take the sweets from him, but he kicked out at her, making her arm jerk back to hit his father's. The car swerved into the on-coming traffic.

They are the only deaths she can bear thinking about right now. It is a dull, familiar pain – more like an ache, really - that she had learned to deal with, to live with, unlike the fresh, raw, stabbing despair of Toby's death that she isn't allowing herself to feel just yet. Not fully, but it would come. She expects it, knows what it will feel like and knows it is only a matter of time. She had caught occasional flickers of the night before, but forced the memories down, only for them to resurface in her nightmares. For the past twelve hours or more she had tried to only reminisce on his life and the memories they shared. That was what she must focus on, to prevent herself from breaking down completely. That is what she still must focus on, for as long as she has strength to. Even through her longest and darkest nights, she had never felt as alone as she did now. At least he had still been there then, a few doors down the hallway; her only comfort. _Now I have Irene_,_ with her pertinacious snoring, _Trix reminds herself, almost forgetting where she is, _but there is still hope_. Immediately, she feels guilty. _Why should you have hope? He doesn't, not anymore. Why should you get a second chance? _Inhaling deeply, she draws the lighter she had taken from Jaden from her pocket and relights the candle – more like a tea light, really – that she had brought with her from Irene's. The flame had flickered out on the way down the path, despite her attempts to shield it from the slight sea breeze. She exhales slowly and steadily as she approaches the shoreline, the water lapping over her toes. The cold shock sends a shiver down her spine. It makes a somewhat welcome change from the raging heat of the fire that lingered on her skin. Before she realises, she has waded in waist deep and stops to put the candle inside an empty jam jar – also stolen from Irene; old habits die hard. She screws the lid closed and sets it upright on her surfboard, her chin keeping it in place, and paddles out as far as she dares to release it on the water, kissing the glass before letting it go. As the golden edge of the sun peers over the skyline, she whispers, _I'm sorry,_ and watches the speck of light drift away.

As Kyle strums the final chords of "Sweet Child of Mine", the audience breaks into a round of applause, with their smiling, bemused and surprised faces turned towards him and this strange girl with flaming hair. God knows where she came from- the streets by the look of her- but it's just as well she had. The customers didn't seem interested in him before she had interrupted his 'pity party', as she had called it, and besides, he wasn't a very confident singer. This girl, on the other hand, was bold as brass, though he was sure it was nerves that had caused her initial discordant crooning, which had improved with each song. They had played three, the penultimate ("Don't Stop Me Now") being an instant hit. Like a few of the onlookers, he had protested at first, but now he had to admit, he was impressed.

"Bravo, bravo!" congratulates Jett from the front row and whistles, though unlike how the Riverboys had before.

She bows extravagantly before the cheering crowd, as Heath approaches the side of the low stage.

"Make a habit of embarrassing yourself, do ya?" Heath interjects, addressing the girl.

"Only on special occasions," she replies dryly, as she passes him on her return to the bar.

"'Special' would be right..."

"_Heath_," Brax scowls.

"Relax, Brax. Beatrixknows I'm only messing, don't ya? But seriously, what sort of name is _Beatrix_?"

Trix considers asking them both the same question, but decides to let it go. "So you're the infamous Heath," she states, instead. "Irene warned me about you. Her exact words were "_not the sharpest tool in the shed, he often puts his foot in it as soon as he opens his mouth_." Don't disappoint- DO YA?"

"Heath? Never!" Brax jokes feebly, in an attempt to diffuse the tension.

"As much fun as this is, WE'VE got a welcoming party to get to – YOUR welcoming party, which you're an hour and a half late for," Heath informs her. Kyle, who had been listening intently, is confused. He wanders over to the bar. What does his brother have to do with 'Beatrix'?

"But we were just getting started! You were really good!" Kyle protests. Trix is not the only one who looks taken aback. "I mean, the customers were really into it, once you'd stopped... shrieking – I'll, erm (clears throat) get back to it..."

"Emo, wait." Trix blocks his path.

"My name's Kyle."

"Mine's Trix."

"Isn't that like the sort of name you would give to a dog or something?" Heath laughs. His brothers glance at him with the same withering look. Trix chooses to ignore him.

"Same time next week, Kyle?"

"-If you're still here-" remarks Heath. Only Kyle notices her flinch ever so slightly and her face hardens.

"Brax?" enquires Kyle, seeking his approval.

"Karaoke night?" Brax replies. "Yeah, why not? Seems to be a hit, I think we can give it a fair go."

"You won't regret it," Kyle assures him. Heath rolls his eyes.

"Hold the phone, what about your open mic night? I stole your limelight, remember?" asks Trix, a little bewildered. _Have I actually found an ally in this guy?_ She thinks to herself. _Or, more likely, he just wants to capitalise on my potential- but what potential? All I've done is have a good time, which is quite an achievement, considering-_

"Don't change your plans on my account. This was just a spontaneous thing, you only live once and all that."

"But you just asked-" begins Kyle, even more confused.

"It's Saturday night, people want to be entertained- like you said," Brax points out to her. "And I think you succeeded there," he adds, indicating the still-buzzing crowd. A middle-aged man seems to be considering if he should follow Trix's lead, but stumbles over when stepping up onto the stage. He laughs drunkenly, as someone helps him to his feet. "C'mon, don't chicken out now." Brax unveils one of his dazzling smiles, just for her. It reminds Trix of a line in a book she had read, not long ago; "_he had one of those rare smiles with a quality of eternal reassurance in it_."

"Well, it's karaoke so anyone could do it, not just me, right?" Trix asks, just to make sure. She couldn't always be the centre of attention, after all. "Oh what the hell, you're on." She high-fives both of them.

"Sweet... and we can always hold open mic another night- Friday, maybe?" Kyle wonders aloud.

"As much as I'd love to stand around yakking all day like old women," Heath interjects, once again. "I've got better things I could be doing with my time so, if you don't mind, I'd like my pizza today, guys." His younger brother obediently retreats to the kitchen.

Brax sighs. "It's coming, I told you-"

"-Yeah, so is Christmas-"

"Well, feel free to piss off and leave us alone until then, Heathcliff- or whatever your name is. You can_ have_ your pizza and your beer in front of the footy, don't let us stop you. You're only doing this because you _need_ to keep wifey happy, who needs to keep Auntie Irene happy and who says I even _want _a meet and greet, anyway?" Trix exclaims, raising her voice enough to attract attention. "Do you expect me to be grateful?"

"We're still going," Heath mutters, grabbing her firmly by the wrist. Brax opens his mouth to object.

"Get off me!" she snarls, abruptly wrenching it from his grasp. "And you can stick your party hat where the sun doesn't shine!" People are beginning to stare. Brax wonders if there's anything he can do to contain the situation, without earning either a rude retort, loud enough for the whole restaurant to hear, or a slap in the face. Or punch. She seems like a punching kind of girl. As though reading his mind, Heath again takes hold -albeit gently this time- of her arm.

"Play nice, sweet cheeks, no need for-" Heath is cut off, as she promptly throws the contents of her bottle in his face. It then hits the floor with a satisfying _splash_. In the background, a few people gasp. Jett hoots with laughter. All eyes are now on them.

"Now, what did you waste $3.50 on him for?" Brax smirks. The customers relax a little and some resume their chatter.

"Worth every cent," Trix tells him, still staring down a stunned Heath. "You can tell the missus and Irene that I'll make my own way back, thanks, without a chaperone." She pauses. "Go on, run along. Oh, and actually, I'll take one, just in case you eat them both out of sheer spite on the way." She adds, as Kyle emerges from the kitchen, two flat cardboard boxes in hand. He stops in his tracks when he clocks what has occurred during his brief absence. He fails to conceal a smile.

"Er... one margherita and one BBQ chicken, was it?" Kyle asks Heath, who is blinking gormlessly at Trix. Liquid is trickling down his face, dripping from his chin and nose into his gaping mouth, and he appears not to have heard him. Brax nods for Heath and takes the boxes from Kyle, before presenting them with a flourish; Service With a Smile. Standards have to be maintained, no matter what his latest customer has just done to his brother. Frankly, it is _because_ of what she has just done to his brother that he feels like patting her on the back.

"Ah, my favourite," Trix replies, grabbing the BBQ chicken pizza before Heath can reach it and flashes a grin at him. "What are you waiting for, Heathcliff? Pay the man."

"That was mine," he grumbles under his breath, wiping his face with his trademark tank top.

"They're on the house," Brax says, before adding, "Despite the fact that someone's going to have to mop that spill up now; Health and Safety precaution."

"Don't look at me, I've got my party to get to and anyway, he deserved it," Trix mumbles, through a mouthful of pizza. "And I think I'll take my business elsewhere to replace my lemonade with something cheaper. Oh and give my compliments to the chef, would you, Darryl?"

"Bye then," Kyle waves, but she has already started towards the doorway, the pizza box under one arm, munching on the slice of pizza in her other hand.

She has already left by the time Brax realises. He doesn't remember either telling her his legal name, nor the boys addressing him as such. He is still pondering this later in the evening while cleaning tables. As he reaches to wipe off some salt that has been spilled – or poured – he notices that letters have been traced in the salt to form a word. Not just a word, but a name: "_Taylor_".

The welcoming party passed much too slowly, it was an awkward and drawn-out affair for everyone involved. Most of all for Heath, who had agreed to pretend that this was their first meeting. He had arrived shortly after her, despite the fact that she had taken her time choosing her order at the juice bar. He obviously was wishing he could avoid this as much as she was. He reminded her that the pizza was getting cold._ Forget about the damn pizza for a minute, _she wanted to say, but instead, told him to say nothing of what had happened in the restaurant. Unless he was going to apologise in front of everyone for how rude he had been to her. He thought about it for a moment, before consenting to the plan, but reluctantly apologised, anyway. She had been hovering on the doorstep, wondering what angle she should attack this from. Should she pretend to be indifferent, hide her feelings, say hello and go straight to her room (wherever that was)? Should she sit in the corner, looking sad and moody in the hope that no-one would bother her? Or should she put on a brave face, again hiding her feelings, and make small talk? She had just decided upon the latter, when Heath had rocked up, in new clothes – Semi-formal clothes, in fact; jeans and a plaid shirt this time. He told her that he had to make it look like he'd decided to dress up for her arrival after all, and not because he'd had an _accident_,as he put it.

"First impressions 'n' all, eh?" he had joked, wryly. _Back at you_, she could have said, but didn't.

Irene had interrupted them then, saying that she thought she heard voices and ushered them inside. Heath covered for her, saying that they had just met on the doorstep, so she was helping him carry in the food, which would have looked suspicious if he hadn't also brought along some bags of Doritos and popcorn. He pretended that he was so hungry that he had eaten the two missing slices of BBQ chicken pizza already, which earned him a playful slap on the wrist from Bianca. They had been expecting her, she informed Trix, in imitation of a Bond villain. _As if I don't already know_, she thought but apologised for her lateness. The three girls had formed a rather military-looking line in the kitchen to greet her; Bianca first, then April, then Darcy.

"Am I sensing a trend here?" Trix enquired. "Darcy, Heath... any Rochesters I should know about?" The adults had laughed, except for Heath who, like his daughter, obviously didn't understand the reference.

"Oh, they're characters – from books," Bianca explained to them both, before turning back to Trix. "Something he isn't very well acquainted with," she paused to give a cordial chortle of laughter, "but I love him no less." They smiled at each other, the love evident in their expressions and in their eyes. _Please, don't make me sick_, Trix had thought, in more of a mental plea than an insult.

"Oh, a muggle, is he?" she had replied with instead and smiled down at Darcy. Hopefully she would understand this time. Trix knew how it felt to be out of the loop in grown-up conversations.

"I think it's pretty obvious," Darcy giggled.

"Hey, Darc! Don't judge a book by its cover, remember?" April chided, playfully. Compared to her and her sister's bronzed beauty, Trix felt like a white rat – a ginger, freckled white rat.

It had gone downhill from there. The pool of polite chit-chat, although pleasant, had dried up soon enough. It was as though they remembered why they had gathered and felt guilty and unsure about being cheerful around her, but didn't relish the prospect of the alternative. Instead, they settled for a mood somewhere in-between and ate mostly in silence, avoiding addressing the reality of the situation. Irene had switched on the TV to create some background noise. No-one could really concentrate on it. There was the occasional brief trickle of information someone had recalled, as they filtered through their mind for something – anything – to share, while mostly avoiding the subject of family, Trix noticed. Although, Bianca had explained that she was not Darcy's mother but how Irene was like a mother to April and herself. The topics covered had been from Bianca and Heath's impending nuptials to April's university degree to even Darcy's favourite food in the diner, which at that moment were pancakes with ice-cream, although it changed every day, Heath had pointed out. Trix promised her that she would try them for herself someday.

As the atmosphere changed, Heath only felt comfortable talking to his daughter and kept telling her bad jokes, which she apparently found hilarious. Nobody else did. They smiled feebly back at him and he knew there was something that everyone was thinking but avoiding saying, but he didn't know what. He didn't even know why this strange poor-looking girl had suddenly shown up in Summer Bay, other than Irene was fostering her and that it was at short-notice. This fourteen-year-old girl, Beatrix, desperately needed a place to stay and had been assigned to Irene, who wanted them to organise some sort of party to welcome her, and he had to be there at four o'clock, was all Bianca had told him, on her way back from the diner that morning. She was a surfer, he knew, as Irene had asked him to lift her surfboard off the roof of the car. Irene had told him – told them all – when she had returned from the city, that the girl needed some fresh air and had disappeared, likely to the beach. They had waited as long as they could before ordering the pizza, and when that had taken its sweet time, they had sent Heath out to retrieve it, in the hope that he might bump into an untidy-looking redhead on the way. You could say that they had bumped into one another, or rather; the lemonade bottle had bumped into him.

Eventually, April cracked and offered Trix her most sincere condolences, on behalf of everyone. She thanked her but said she didn't want to talk about it. Bianca admitted that she had been the same when their son had died last year, whereas Heath had been the opposite. Trix paled. She exchanged glances with Heath, who bore the same expression she did, as each recognised the other's pain. Now, Heath felt ashamed of his earlier behaviour, he had been such a jerk to her, and all because – Trix was right – he would rather be at home watching the game than stuck here; outnumbered by chicks, even if two of them were the two people he loved more than anyone in the world. Trix almost felt guilty for her earlier actions towards him. He seemed like a good dad, at least. Darcy revealed that her mother was dead, too. In an odd detached voice, Trix told them all that she was sorry for their loss, before making the excuse that she needed to use the bathroom. Irene pointed the way.

"And feel free to use the shower while you're in there," Irene called after her, not unkindly.

She had emerged from the bathroom half an hour later, wrapped in the largest towel she could find. Everyone had dispersed but Irene, who told her that April had left some of her old clothes in her room that was now Trix's and that she could change into them. They weren't her style at all but, to her relief, she found some baggy sweatpants and a loose-fitting black T-shirt among the skirts, shorts, dresses and low cut girly tops. To her surprise, Irene had bought her new underwear, thankfully. Even fully clothed, having been stripped of all her belongings, she still felt a sense of nakedness. Apart from her surfboard and her wetsuit, that she had begged Irene to take her back to the care home's garage for, she had nothing other than the clothes that had been on her back – and her mobile phone in one pocket, she realised, as it began to ring. Her DOCS case worker had given her same money to compensate, or rather, she had given it to Irene for safe-keeping, who had allowed Trix to have $10 of it as pocket money. Everything else had been lost in the fire.

The ringtone was "We Can't Stop" by Miley Cyrus - Toby had set it, as a joke, knowing how much she disliked the song. She shuddered. It was someone from the care home checking up on her, but she had let it go to voicemail. She would listen to it later, for they likely would leave one, but she didn't have the strength to talk to anyone from her old life; anyone who knew Toby. It felt strange to think of it already as her 'old life' and this as her new. Twenty four hours ago, she was still back there and everything was normal – as if her life could be described as 'normal'. The care worker would keep trying every hour until she picked up though, she was sure of that. With a sigh, she switched it off and tried to sleep for a few hours, her weariness finally catching up with her. She had lain awake the remainder of the night before, in that rigid hospital bed and tossed and turned in turmoil. Not from any physical pain, not really. She had let both the hospital breakfast and lunch turn cold. Even the sight of the stodgy porridge that early in the morning, had not only made her feel like she was either in prison or that orphanage from "Oliver", but had turned her stomach so much that she threw up over the nurse, who was later trying to coax her into having some soup (which she would have gladly thrown over her too) when her DOCS case worker had introduced her to Irene. That had seemed to be the theme of the day; throwing various liquids over practical strangers.

After an eventual three hours of broken sleep plagued by nightmares – even worse than usual – Trix crept out of the house (the keys weren't hard to find) to look for her surfing gear in the garage. It was still dark, but dawn was close. It wasn't the first time that she had sat on the beach waiting for the sun to come up, before a very early morning surf. Although, it is the first time that she has on this particular beach. It is a new beginning.

She sits thinking over all the things that have occurred since she arrived in Summer Bay. She would've appreciated the effort of Irene, et cetera, if it hadn't been for their misguided intentions. She doesn't deserve their pity. She thinks of Darcy, who is all sweetness and light. She can't remember the last time she had felt like that. Actually, no, she could. It was the day her parents had died – before they had died, obviously. They had been away on a family day out, to the small coastal town where her adoptive father had grown up, not unlike this one. They had spent almost the whole fun-filled day on the beach. She supposed that was why she always felt drawn towards the nearest one, which had previously been in Sydney, because it was the last place they had all been truly happy and carefree – and together.

On the drive home, her seven-year-old self and her adoptive brother, eight-year-old Toby, had been greedy enough to eat all her sweets between them, but he had decided to save his and refused to share. She tried to grab his paper bag from him and a fight had ensued. Their mother (Toby's mother, she wasn't hers – biologically) had taken off her seatbelt to reach into the back seat and take the sweets from him, but he kicked out at her, making her arm jerk back to hit his father's. The car swerved into the on-coming traffic.

They are the only deaths she can bear thinking about right now. It is a dull, familiar pain – more like an ache, really - that she had learned to deal with, to live with, unlike the fresh, raw, stabbing despair of Toby's death that she isn't allowing herself to feel just yet. Not fully, but it would come. She expects it, knows what it will feel like and knows it is only a matter of time. She had caught occasional flickers of the night before, but forced the memories down, only for them to resurface in her nightmares. For the past twelve hours or more she had tried to only reminisce on his life and the memories they shared. That was what she must focus on, to prevent herself from breaking down completely. That is what she still must focus on, for as long as she has strength to. Even through her longest and darkest nights, she had never felt as alone as she did now. At least he had still been there then, a few doors down the hallway; her only comfort. _Now I have Irene_,_ with her pertinacious snoring, _Trix reminds herself, almost forgetting where she is, _but there is still hope_. Immediately, she feels guilty. _Why should you have hope? He doesn't, not anymore. Why should you get a second chance? _Inhaling deeply, she draws the lighter she had taken from Jaden from her pocket and relights the candle – more like a tea light, really – that she had brought with her from Irene's. The flame had flickered out on the way down the path, despite her attempts to shield it from the slight sea breeze. She exhales slowly and steadily as she approaches the shoreline, the water lapping over her toes. The cold shock sends a shiver down her spine. It makes a somewhat welcome change from the raging heat of the fire that lingered on her skin. Before she realises, she has waded in waist deep and stops to put the candle inside an empty jam jar – also stolen from Irene; old habits die hard. She screws the lid closed and sets it upright on her surfboard, her chin keeping it in place, and paddles out as far as she dares to release it on the water, kissing the glass before letting it go. As the golden edge of the sun peers over the skyline, she whispers, _I'm sorry,_ and watches the speck of light drift away.

As Kyle strums the final chords of "Sweet Child of Mine", the audience breaks into a round of applause, with their smiling, bemused and surprised faces turned towards him and this strange girl with flaming hair. God knows where she came from- the streets by the look of her- but it's just as well she had. The customers didn't seem interested in him before she had interrupted his 'pity party', as she had called it, and besides, he wasn't a very confident singer. This girl, on the other hand, was bold as brass, though he was sure it was nerves that had caused her initial discordant crooning, which had improved with each song. They had played three, the penultimate ("Don't Stop Me Now") being an instant hit. Like a few of the onlookers, he had protested at first, but now he had to admit, he was impressed.

"Bravo, bravo!" congratulates Jett from the front row and whistles, though unlike how the Riverboys had before.

She bows extravagantly before the cheering crowd, as Heath approaches the side of the low stage.

"Make a habit of embarrassing yourself, do ya?" Heath interjects, addressing the girl.

"Only on special occasions," she replies dryly, as she passes him on her return to the bar.

"'Special' would be right..."

"_Heath_," Brax scowls.

"Relax, Brax. Beatrixknows I'm only messing, don't ya? But seriously, what sort of name is _Beatrix_?"

Trix considers asking them both the same question, but decides to let it go. "So you're the infamous Heath," she states, instead. "Irene warned me about you. Her exact words were "_not the sharpest tool in the shed, he often puts his foot in it as soon as he opens his mouth_." Don't disappoint- DO YA?"

"Heath? Never!" Brax jokes feebly, in an attempt to diffuse the tension.

"As much fun as this is, WE'VE got a welcoming party to get to – YOUR welcoming party, which you're an hour and a half late for," Heath informs her. Kyle, who had been listening intently, is confused. He wanders over to the bar. What does his brother have to do with 'Beatrix'?

"But we were just getting started! You were really good!" Kyle protests. Trix is not the only one who looks taken aback. "I mean, the customers were really into it, once you'd stopped... shrieking – I'll, erm (clears throat) get back to it..."

"Emo, wait." Trix blocks his path.

"My name's Kyle."

"Mine's Trix."

"Isn't that like the sort of name you would give to a dog or something?" Heath laughs. His brothers glance at him with the same withering look. Trix chooses to ignore him.

"Same time next week, Kyle?"

"-If you're still here-" remarks Heath. Only Kyle notices her flinch ever so slightly and her face hardens.

"Brax?" enquires Kyle, seeking his approval.

"Karaoke night?" Brax replies. "Yeah, why not? Seems to be a hit, I think we can give it a fair go."

"You won't regret it," Kyle assures him. Heath rolls his eyes.

"Hold the phone, what about your open mic night? I stole your limelight, remember?" asks Trix, a little bewildered. _Have I actually found an ally in this guy?_ She thinks to herself. _Or, more likely, he just wants to capitalise on my potential- but what potential? All I've done is have a good time, which is quite an achievement, considering-_

"Don't change your plans on my account. This was just a spontaneous thing, you only live once and all that."

"But you just asked-" begins Kyle, even more confused.

"It's Saturday night, people want to be entertained- like you said," Brax points out to her. "And I think you succeeded there," he adds, indicating the still-buzzing crowd. A middle-aged man seems to be considering if he should follow Trix's lead, but stumbles over when stepping up onto the stage. He laughs drunkenly, as someone helps him to his feet. "C'mon, don't chicken out now." Brax unveils one of his dazzling smiles, just for her. It reminds Trix of a line in a book she had read, not long ago; "_he had one of those rare smiles with a quality of eternal reassurance in it_."

"Well, it's karaoke so anyone could do it, not just me, right?" Trix asks, just to make sure. She couldn't always be the centre of attention, after all. "Oh what the hell, you're on." She high-fives both of them.

"Sweet... and we can always hold open mic another night- Friday, maybe?" Kyle wonders aloud.

"As much as I'd love to stand around yakking all day like old women," Heath interjects, once again. "I've got better things I could be doing with my time so, if you don't mind, I'd like my pizza today, guys." His younger brother obediently retreats to the kitchen.

Brax sighs. "It's coming, I told you-"

"-Yeah, so is Christmas-"

"Well, feel free to piss off and leave us alone until then, Heathcliff- or whatever your name is. You can_ have_ your pizza and your beer in front of the footy, don't let us stop you. You're only doing this because you _need_ to keep wifey happy, who needs to keep Auntie Irene happy and who says I even _want _a meet and greet, anyway?" Trix exclaims, raising her voice enough to attract attention. "Do you expect me to be grateful?"

"We're still going," Heath mutters, grabbing her firmly by the wrist. Brax opens his mouth to object.

"Get off me!" she snarls, abruptly wrenching it from his grasp. "And you can stick your party hat where the sun doesn't shine!" People are beginning to stare. Brax wonders if there's anything he can do to contain the situation, without earning either a rude retort, loud enough for the whole restaurant to hear, or a slap in the face. Or punch. She seems like a punching kind of girl. As though reading his mind, Heath again takes hold -albeit gently this time- of her arm.

"Play nice, sweet cheeks, no need for-" Heath is cut off, as she promptly throws the contents of her bottle in his face. It then hits the floor with a satisfying _splash_. In the background, a few people gasp. Jett hoots with laughter. All eyes are now on them.

"Now, what did you waste $3.50 on him for?" Brax smirks. The customers relax a little and some resume their chatter.

"Worth every cent," Trix tells him, still staring down a stunned Heath. "You can tell the missus and Irene that I'll make my own way back, thanks, without a chaperone." She pauses. "Go on, run along. Oh, and actually, I'll take one, just in case you eat them both out of sheer spite on the way." She adds, as Kyle emerges from the kitchen, two flat cardboard boxes in hand. He stops in his tracks when he clocks what has occurred during his brief absence. He fails to conceal a smile.

"Er... one margherita and one BBQ chicken, was it?" Kyle asks Heath, who is blinking gormlessly at Trix. Liquid is trickling down his face, dripping from his chin and nose into his gaping mouth, and he appears not to have heard him. Brax nods for Heath and takes the boxes from Kyle, before presenting them with a flourish; Service With a Smile. Standards have to be maintained, no matter what his latest customer has just done to his brother. Frankly, it is _because_ of what she has just done to his brother that he feels like patting her on the back.

"Ah, my favourite," Trix replies, grabbing the BBQ chicken pizza before Heath can reach it and flashes a grin at him. "What are you waiting for, Heathcliff? Pay the man."

"That was mine," he grumbles under his breath, wiping his face with his trademark tank top.

"They're on the house," Brax says, before adding, "Despite the fact that someone's going to have to mop that spill up now; Health and Safety precaution."

"Don't look at me, I've got my party to get to and anyway, he deserved it," Trix mumbles, through a mouthful of pizza. "And I think I'll take my business elsewhere to replace my lemonade with something cheaper. Oh and give my compliments to the chef, would you, Darryl?"

"Bye then," Kyle waves, but she has already started towards the doorway, the pizza box under one arm, munching on the slice of pizza in her other hand.

She has already left by the time Brax realises. He doesn't remember either telling her his legal name, nor the boys addressing him as such. He is still pondering this later in the evening while cleaning tables. As he reaches to wipe off some salt that has been spilled – or poured – he notices that letters have been traced in the salt to form a word. Not just a word, but a name: "_Taylor_".

The welcoming party passed much too slowly, it was an awkward and drawn-out affair for everyone involved. Most of all for Heath, who had agreed to pretend that this was their first meeting. He had arrived shortly after her, despite the fact that she had taken her time choosing her order at the juice bar. He obviously was wishing he could avoid this as much as she was. He reminded her that the pizza was getting cold._ Forget about the damn pizza for a minute, _she wanted to say, but instead, told him to say nothing of what had happened in the restaurant. Unless he was going to apologise in front of everyone for how rude he had been to her. He thought about it for a moment, before consenting to the plan, but reluctantly apologised, anyway. She had been hovering on the doorstep, wondering what angle she should attack this from. Should she pretend to be indifferent, hide her feelings, say hello and go straight to her room (wherever that was)? Should she sit in the corner, looking sad and moody in the hope that no-one would bother her? Or should she put on a brave face, again hiding her feelings, and make small talk? She had just decided upon the latter, when Heath had rocked up, in new clothes – Semi-formal clothes, in fact; jeans and a plaid shirt this time. He told her that he had to make it look like he'd decided to dress up for her arrival after all, and not because he'd had an _accident_,as he put it.

"First impressions 'n' all, eh?" he had joked, wryly. _Back at you_, she could have said, but didn't.

Irene had interrupted them then, saying that she thought she heard voices and ushered them inside. Heath covered for her, saying that they had just met on the doorstep, so she was helping him carry in the food, which would have looked suspicious if he hadn't also brought along some bags of Doritos and popcorn. He pretended that he was so hungry that he had eaten the two missing slices of BBQ chicken pizza already, which earned him a playful slap on the wrist from Bianca. They had been expecting her, she informed Trix, in imitation of a Bond villain. _As if I don't already know_, she thought but apologised for her lateness. The three girls had formed a rather military-looking line in the kitchen to greet her; Bianca first, then April, then Darcy.

"Am I sensing a trend here?" Trix enquired. "Darcy, Heath... any Rochesters I should know about?" The adults had laughed, except for Heath who, like his daughter, obviously didn't understand the reference.

"Oh, they're characters – from books," Bianca explained to them both, before turning back to Trix. "Something he isn't very well acquainted with," she paused to give a cordial chortle of laughter, "but I love him no less." They smiled at each other, the love evident in their expressions and in their eyes. _Please, don't make me sick_, Trix had thought, in more of a mental plea than an insult.

"Oh, a muggle, is he?" she had replied with instead and smiled down at Darcy. Hopefully she would understand this time. Trix knew how it felt to be out of the loop in grown-up conversations.

"I think it's pretty obvious," Darcy giggled.

"Hey, Darc! Don't judge a book by its cover, remember?" April chided, playfully. Compared to her and her sister's bronzed beauty, Trix felt like a white rat – a ginger, freckled white rat.

It had gone downhill from there. The pool of polite chit-chat, although pleasant, had dried up soon enough. It was as though they remembered why they had gathered and felt guilty and unsure about being cheerful around her, but didn't relish the prospect of the alternative. Instead, they settled for a mood somewhere in-between and ate mostly in silence, avoiding addressing the reality of the situation. Irene had switched on the TV to create some background noise. No-one could really concentrate on it. There was the occasional brief trickle of information someone had recalled, as they filtered through their mind for something – anything – to share, while mostly avoiding the subject of family, Trix noticed. Although, Bianca had explained that she was not Darcy's mother but how Irene was like a mother to April and herself. The topics covered had been from Bianca and Heath's impending nuptials to April's university degree to even Darcy's favourite food in the diner, which at that moment were pancakes with ice-cream, although it changed every day, Heath had pointed out. Trix promised her that she would try them for herself someday.

As the atmosphere changed, Heath only felt comfortable talking to his daughter and kept telling her bad jokes, which she apparently found hilarious. Nobody else did. They smiled feebly back at him and he knew there was something that everyone was thinking but avoiding saying, but he didn't know what. He didn't even know why this strange poor-looking girl had suddenly shown up in Summer Bay, other than Irene was fostering her and that it was at short-notice. This fourteen-year-old girl, Beatrix, desperately needed a place to stay and had been assigned to Irene, who wanted them to organise some sort of party to welcome her, and he had to be there at four o'clock, was all Bianca had told him, on her way back from the diner that morning. She was a surfer, he knew, as Irene had asked him to lift her surfboard off the roof of the car. Irene had told him – told them all – when she had returned from the city, that the girl needed some fresh air and had disappeared, likely to the beach. They had waited as long as they could before ordering the pizza, and when that had taken its sweet time, they had sent Heath out to retrieve it, in the hope that he might bump into an untidy-looking redhead on the way. You could say that they had bumped into one another, or rather; the lemonade bottle had bumped into him.

Eventually, April cracked and offered Trix her most sincere condolences, on behalf of everyone. She thanked her but said she didn't want to talk about it. Bianca admitted that she had been the same when their son had died last year, whereas Heath had been the opposite. Trix paled. She exchanged glances with Heath, who bore the same expression she did, as each recognised the other's pain. Now, Heath felt ashamed of his earlier behaviour, he had been such a jerk to her, and all because – Trix was right – he would rather be at home watching the game than stuck here; outnumbered by chicks, even if two of them were the two people he loved more than anyone in the world. Trix almost felt guilty for her earlier actions towards him. He seemed like a good dad, at least. Darcy revealed that her mother was dead, too. In an odd detached voice, Trix told them all that she was sorry for their loss, before making the excuse that she needed to use the bathroom. Irene pointed the way.

"And feel free to use the shower while you're in there," Irene called after her, not unkindly.

She had emerged from the bathroom half an hour later, wrapped in the largest towel she could find. Everyone had dispersed but Irene, who told her that April had left some of her old clothes in her room that was now Trix's and that she could change into them. They weren't her style at all but, to her relief, she found some baggy sweatpants and a loose-fitting black T-shirt among the skirts, shorts, dresses and low cut girly tops. To her surprise, Irene had bought her new underwear, thankfully. Even fully clothed, having been stripped of all her belongings, she still felt a sense of nakedness. Apart from her surfboard and her wetsuit, that she had begged Irene to take her back to the care home's garage for, she had nothing other than the clothes that had been on her back – and her mobile phone in one pocket, she realised, as it began to ring. Her DOCS case worker had given her same money to compensate, or rather, she had given it to Irene for safe-keeping, who had allowed Trix to have $10 of it as pocket money. Everything else had been lost in the fire.

The ringtone was "We Can't Stop" by Miley Cyrus - Toby had set it, as a joke, knowing how much she disliked the song. She shuddered. It was someone from the care home checking up on her, but she had let it go to voicemail. She would listen to it later, for they likely would leave one, but she didn't have the strength to talk to anyone from her old life; anyone who knew Toby. It felt strange to think of it already as her 'old life' and this as her new. Twenty four hours ago, she was still back there and everything was normal – as if her life could be described as 'normal'. The care worker would keep trying every hour until she picked up though, she was sure of that. With a sigh, she switched it off and tried to sleep for a few hours, her weariness finally catching up with her. She had lain awake the remainder of the night before, in that rigid hospital bed and tossed and turned in turmoil. Not from any physical pain, not really. She had let both the hospital breakfast and lunch turn cold. Even the sight of the stodgy porridge that early in the morning, had not only made her feel like she was either in prison or that orphanage from "Oliver", but had turned her stomach so much that she threw up over the nurse, who was later trying to coax her into having some soup (which she would have gladly thrown over her too) when her DOCS case worker had introduced her to Irene. That had seemed to be the theme of the day; throwing various liquids over practical strangers.

After an eventual three hours of broken sleep plagued by nightmares – even worse than usual – Trix crept out of the house (the keys weren't hard to find) to look for her surfing gear in the garage. It was still dark, but dawn was close. It wasn't the first time that she had sat on the beach waiting for the sun to come up, before a very early morning surf. Although, it is the first time that she has on this particular beach. It is a new beginning.

She sits thinking over all the things that have occurred since she arrived in Summer Bay. She would've appreciated the effort of Irene, et cetera, if it hadn't been for their misguided intentions. She doesn't deserve their pity. She thinks of Darcy, who is all sweetness and light. She can't remember the last time she had felt like that. Actually, no, she could. It was the day her parents had died – before they had died, obviously. They had been away on a family day out, to the small coastal town where her adoptive father had grown up, not unlike this one. They had spent almost the whole fun-filled day on the beach. She supposed that was why she always felt drawn towards the nearest one, which had previously been in Sydney, because it was the last place they had all been truly happy and carefree – and together.

On the drive home, her seven-year-old self and her adoptive brother, eight-year-old Toby, had been greedy enough to eat all her sweets between them, but he had decided to save his and refused to share. She tried to grab his paper bag from him and a fight had ensued. Their mother (Toby's mother, she wasn't hers – biologically) had taken off her seatbelt to reach into the back seat and take the sweets from him, but he kicked out at her, making her arm jerk back to hit his father's. The car swerved into the on-coming traffic.

They are the only deaths she can bear thinking about right now. It is a dull, familiar pain – more like an ache, really - that she had learned to deal with, to live with, unlike the fresh, raw, stabbing despair of Toby's death that she isn't allowing herself to feel just yet. Not fully, but it would come. She expects it, knows what it will feel like and knows it is only a matter of time. She had caught occasional flickers of the night before, but forced the memories down, only for them to resurface in her nightmares. For the past twelve hours or more she had tried to only reminisce on his life and the memories they shared. That was what she must focus on, to prevent herself from breaking down completely. That is what she still must focus on, for as long as she has strength to. Even through her longest and darkest nights, she had never felt as alone as she did now. At least he had still been there then, a few doors down the hallway; her only comfort. _Now I have Irene_,_ with her pertinacious snoring, _Trix reminds herself, almost forgetting where she is, _but there is still hope_. Immediately, she feels guilty. _Why should you have hope? He doesn't, not anymore. Why should you get a second chance? _Inhaling deeply, she draws the lighter she had taken from Jaden from her pocket and relights the candle – more like a tea light, really – that she had brought with her from Irene's. The flame had flickered out on the way down the path, despite her attempts to shield it from the slight sea breeze. She exhales slowly and steadily as she approaches the shoreline, the water lapping over her toes. The cold shock sends a shiver down her spine. It makes a somewhat welcome change from the raging heat of the fire that lingered on her skin. Before she realises, she has waded in waist deep and stops to put the candle inside an empty jam jar – also stolen from Irene; old habits die hard. She screws the lid closed and sets it upright on her surfboard, her chin keeping it in place, and paddles out as far as she dares to release it on the water, kissing the glass before letting it go. As the golden edge of the sun peers over the skyline, she whispers, _I'm sorry,_ and watches the speck of light drift away.

As Kyle strums the final chords of "Sweet Child of Mine", the audience breaks into a round of applause, with their smiling, bemused and surprised faces turned towards him and this strange girl with flaming hair. God knows where she came from- the streets by the look of her- but it's just as well she had. The customers didn't seem interested in him before she had interrupted his 'pity party', as she had called it, and besides, he wasn't a very confident singer. This girl, on the other hand, was bold as brass, though he was sure it was nerves that had caused her initial discordant crooning, which had improved with each song. They had played three, the penultimate ("Don't Stop Me Now") being an instant hit. Like a few of the onlookers, he had protested at first, but now he had to admit, he was impressed.

"Bravo, bravo!" congratulates Jett from the front row and whistles, though unlike how the Riverboys had before.

She bows extravagantly before the cheering crowd, as Heath approaches the side of the low stage.

"Make a habit of embarrassing yourself, do ya?" Heath interjects, addressing the girl.

"Only on special occasions," she replies dryly, as she passes him on her return to the bar.

"'Special' would be right..."

"_Heath_," Brax scowls.

"Relax, Brax. Beatrixknows I'm only messing, don't ya? But seriously, what sort of name is _Beatrix_?"

Trix considers asking them both the same question, but decides to let it go. "So you're the infamous Heath," she states, instead. "Irene warned me about you. Her exact words were "_not the sharpest tool in the shed, he often puts his foot in it as soon as he opens his mouth_." Don't disappoint- DO YA?"

"Heath? Never!" Brax jokes feebly, in an attempt to diffuse the tension.

"As much fun as this is, WE'VE got a welcoming party to get to – YOUR welcoming party, which you're an hour and a half late for," Heath informs her. Kyle, who had been listening intently, is confused. He wanders over to the bar. What does his brother have to do with 'Beatrix'?

"But we were just getting started! You were really good!" Kyle protests. Trix is not the only one who looks taken aback. "I mean, the customers were really into it, once you'd stopped... shrieking – I'll, erm (clears throat) get back to it..."

"Emo, wait." Trix blocks his path.

"My name's Kyle."

"Mine's Trix."

"Isn't that like the sort of name you would give to a dog or something?" Heath laughs. His brothers glance at him with the same withering look. Trix chooses to ignore him.

"Same time next week, Kyle?"

"-If you're still here-" remarks Heath. Only Kyle notices her flinch ever so slightly and her face hardens.

"Brax?" enquires Kyle, seeking his approval.

"Karaoke night?" Brax replies. "Yeah, why not? Seems to be a hit, I think we can give it a fair go."

"You won't regret it," Kyle assures him. Heath rolls his eyes.

"Hold the phone, what about your open mic night? I stole your limelight, remember?" asks Trix, a little bewildered. _Have I actually found an ally in this guy?_ She thinks to herself. _Or, more likely, he just wants to capitalise on my potential- but what potential? All I've done is have a good time, which is quite an achievement, considering-_

"Don't change your plans on my account. This was just a spontaneous thing, you only live once and all that."

"But you just asked-" begins Kyle, even more confused.

"It's Saturday night, people want to be entertained- like you said," Brax points out to her. "And I think you succeeded there," he adds, indicating the still-buzzing crowd. A middle-aged man seems to be considering if he should follow Trix's lead, but stumbles over when stepping up onto the stage. He laughs drunkenly, as someone helps him to his feet. "C'mon, don't chicken out now." Brax unveils one of his dazzling smiles, just for her. It reminds Trix of a line in a book she had read, not long ago; "_he had one of those rare smiles with a quality of eternal reassurance in it_."

"Well, it's karaoke so anyone could do it, not just me, right?" Trix asks, just to make sure. She couldn't always be the centre of attention, after all. "Oh what the hell, you're on." She high-fives both of them.

"Sweet... and we can always hold open mic another night- Friday, maybe?" Kyle wonders aloud.

"As much as I'd love to stand around yakking all day like old women," Heath interjects, once again. "I've got better things I could be doing with my time so, if you don't mind, I'd like my pizza today, guys." His younger brother obediently retreats to the kitchen.

Brax sighs. "It's coming, I told you-"

"-Yeah, so is Christmas-"

"Well, feel free to piss off and leave us alone until then, Heathcliff- or whatever your name is. You can_ have_ your pizza and your beer in front of the footy, don't let us stop you. You're only doing this because you _need_ to keep wifey happy, who needs to keep Auntie Irene happy and who says I even _want _a meet and greet, anyway?" Trix exclaims, raising her voice enough to attract attention. "Do you expect me to be grateful?"

"We're still going," Heath mutters, grabbing her firmly by the wrist. Brax opens his mouth to object.

"Get off me!" she snarls, abruptly wrenching it from his grasp. "And you can stick your party hat where the sun doesn't shine!" People are beginning to stare. Brax wonders if there's anything he can do to contain the situation, without earning either a rude retort, loud enough for the whole restaurant to hear, or a slap in the face. Or punch. She seems like a punching kind of girl. As though reading his mind, Heath again takes hold -albeit gently this time- of her arm.

"Play nice, sweet cheeks, no need for-" Heath is cut off, as she promptly throws the contents of her bottle in his face. It then hits the floor with a satisfying _splash_. In the background, a few people gasp. Jett hoots with laughter. All eyes are now on them.

"Now, what did you waste $3.50 on him for?" Brax smirks. The customers relax a little and some resume their chatter.

"Worth every cent," Trix tells him, still staring down a stunned Heath. "You can tell the missus and Irene that I'll make my own way back, thanks, without a chaperone." She pauses. "Go on, run along. Oh, and actually, I'll take one, just in case you eat them both out of sheer spite on the way." She adds, as Kyle emerges from the kitchen, two flat cardboard boxes in hand. He stops in his tracks when he clocks what has occurred during his brief absence. He fails to conceal a smile.

"Er... one margherita and one BBQ chicken, was it?" Kyle asks Heath, who is blinking gormlessly at Trix. Liquid is trickling down his face, dripping from his chin and nose into his gaping mouth, and he appears not to have heard him. Brax nods for Heath and takes the boxes from Kyle, before presenting them with a flourish; Service With a Smile. Standards have to be maintained, no matter what his latest customer has just done to his brother. Frankly, it is _because_ of what she has just done to his brother that he feels like patting her on the back.

"Ah, my favourite," Trix replies, grabbing the BBQ chicken pizza before Heath can reach it and flashes a grin at him. "What are you waiting for, Heathcliff? Pay the man."

"That was mine," he grumbles under his breath, wiping his face with his trademark tank top.

"They're on the house," Brax says, before adding, "Despite the fact that someone's going to have to mop that spill up now; Health and Safety precaution."

"Don't look at me, I've got my party to get to and anyway, he deserved it," Trix mumbles, through a mouthful of pizza. "And I think I'll take my business elsewhere to replace my lemonade with something cheaper. Oh and give my compliments to the chef, would you, Darryl?"

"Bye then," Kyle waves, but she has already started towards the doorway, the pizza box under one arm, munching on the slice of pizza in her other hand.

She has already left by the time Brax realises. He doesn't remember either telling her his legal name, nor the boys addressing him as such. He is still pondering this later in the evening while cleaning tables. As he reaches to wipe off some salt that has been spilled – or poured – he notices that letters have been traced in the salt to form a word. Not just a word, but a name: "_Taylor_".

The welcoming party passed much too slowly, it was an awkward and drawn-out affair for everyone involved. Most of all for Heath, who had agreed to pretend that this was their first meeting. He had arrived shortly after her, despite the fact that she had taken her time choosing her order at the juice bar. He obviously was wishing he could avoid this as much as she was. He reminded her that the pizza was getting cold._ Forget about the damn pizza for a minute, _she wanted to say, but instead, told him to say nothing of what had happened in the restaurant. Unless he was going to apologise in front of everyone for how rude he had been to her. He thought about it for a moment, before consenting to the plan, but reluctantly apologised, anyway. She had been hovering on the doorstep, wondering what angle she should attack this from. Should she pretend to be indifferent, hide her feelings, say hello and go straight to her room (wherever that was)? Should she sit in the corner, looking sad and moody in the hope that no-one would bother her? Or should she put on a brave face, again hiding her feelings, and make small talk? She had just decided upon the latter, when Heath had rocked up, in new clothes – Semi-formal clothes, in fact; jeans and a plaid shirt this time. He told her that he had to make it look like he'd decided to dress up for her arrival after all, and not because he'd had an _accident_,as he put it.

"First impressions 'n' all, eh?" he had joked, wryly. _Back at you_, she could have said, but didn't.

Irene had interrupted them then, saying that she thought she heard voices and ushered them inside. Heath covered for her, saying that they had just met on the doorstep, so she was helping him carry in the food, which would have looked suspicious if he hadn't also brought along some bags of Doritos and popcorn. He pretended that he was so hungry that he had eaten the two missing slices of BBQ chicken pizza already, which earned him a playful slap on the wrist from Bianca. They had been expecting her, she informed Trix, in imitation of a Bond villain. _As if I don't already know_, she thought but apologised for her lateness. The three girls had formed a rather military-looking line in the kitchen to greet her; Bianca first, then April, then Darcy.

"Am I sensing a trend here?" Trix enquired. "Darcy, Heath... any Rochesters I should know about?" The adults had laughed, except for Heath who, like his daughter, obviously didn't understand the reference.

"Oh, they're characters – from books," Bianca explained to them both, before turning back to Trix. "Something he isn't very well acquainted with," she paused to give a cordial chortle of laughter, "but I love him no less." They smiled at each other, the love evident in their expressions and in their eyes. _Please, don't make me sick_, Trix had thought, in more of a mental plea than an insult.

"Oh, a muggle, is he?" she had replied with instead and smiled down at Darcy. Hopefully she would understand this time. Trix knew how it felt to be out of the loop in grown-up conversations.

"I think it's pretty obvious," Darcy giggled.

"Hey, Darc! Don't judge a book by its cover, remember?" April chided, playfully. Compared to her and her sister's bronzed beauty, Trix felt like a white rat – a ginger, freckled white rat.

It had gone downhill from there. The pool of polite chit-chat, although pleasant, had dried up soon enough. It was as though they remembered why they had gathered and felt guilty and unsure about being cheerful around her, but didn't relish the prospect of the alternative. Instead, they settled for a mood somewhere in-between and ate mostly in silence, avoiding addressing the reality of the situation. Irene had switched on the TV to create some background noise. No-one could really concentrate on it. There was the occasional brief trickle of information someone had recalled, as they filtered through their mind for something – anything – to share, while mostly avoiding the subject of family, Trix noticed. Although, Bianca had explained that she was not Darcy's mother but how Irene was like a mother to April and herself. The topics covered had been from Bianca and Heath's impending nuptials to April's university degree to even Darcy's favourite food in the diner, which at that moment were pancakes with ice-cream, although it changed every day, Heath had pointed out. Trix promised her that she would try them for herself someday.

As the atmosphere changed, Heath only felt comfortable talking to his daughter and kept telling her bad jokes, which she apparently found hilarious. Nobody else did. They smiled feebly back at him and he knew there was something that everyone was thinking but avoiding saying, but he didn't know what. He didn't even know why this strange poor-looking girl had suddenly shown up in Summer Bay, other than Irene was fostering her and that it was at short-notice. This fourteen-year-old girl, Beatrix, desperately needed a place to stay and had been assigned to Irene, who wanted them to organise some sort of party to welcome her, and he had to be there at four o'clock, was all Bianca had told him, on her way back from the diner that morning. She was a surfer, he knew, as Irene had asked him to lift her surfboard off the roof of the car. Irene had told him – told them all – when she had returned from the city, that the girl needed some fresh air and had disappeared, likely to the beach. They had waited as long as they could before ordering the pizza, and when that had taken its sweet time, they had sent Heath out to retrieve it, in the hope that he might bump into an untidy-looking redhead on the way. You could say that they had bumped into one another, or rather; the lemonade bottle had bumped into him.

Eventually, April cracked and offered Trix her most sincere condolences, on behalf of everyone. She thanked her but said she didn't want to talk about it. Bianca admitted that she had been the same when their son had died last year, whereas Heath had been the opposite. Trix paled. She exchanged glances with Heath, who bore the same expression she did, as each recognised the other's pain. Now, Heath felt ashamed of his earlier behaviour, he had been such a jerk to her, and all because – Trix was right – he would rather be at home watching the game than stuck here; outnumbered by chicks, even if two of them were the two people he loved more than anyone in the world. Trix almost felt guilty for her earlier actions towards him. He seemed like a good dad, at least. Darcy revealed that her mother was dead, too. In an odd detached voice, Trix told them all that she was sorry for their loss, before making the excuse that she needed to use the bathroom. Irene pointed the way.

"And feel free to use the shower while you're in there," Irene called after her, not unkindly.

She had emerged from the bathroom half an hour later, wrapped in the largest towel she could find. Everyone had dispersed but Irene, who told her that April had left some of her old clothes in her room that was now Trix's and that she could change into them. They weren't her style at all but, to her relief, she found some baggy sweatpants and a loose-fitting black T-shirt among the skirts, shorts, dresses and low cut girly tops. To her surprise, Irene had bought her new underwear, thankfully. Even fully clothed, having been stripped of all her belongings, she still felt a sense of nakedness. Apart from her surfboard and her wetsuit, that she had begged Irene to take her back to the care home's garage for, she had nothing other than the clothes that had been on her back – and her mobile phone in one pocket, she realised, as it began to ring. Her DOCS case worker had given her same money to compensate, or rather, she had given it to Irene for safe-keeping, who had allowed Trix to have $10 of it as pocket money. Everything else had been lost in the fire.

The ringtone was "We Can't Stop" by Miley Cyrus - Toby had set it, as a joke, knowing how much she disliked the song. She shuddered. It was someone from the care home checking up on her, but she had let it go to voicemail. She would listen to it later, for they likely would leave one, but she didn't have the strength to talk to anyone from her old life; anyone who knew Toby. It felt strange to think of it already as her 'old life' and this as her new. Twenty four hours ago, she was still back there and everything was normal – as if her life could be described as 'normal'. The care worker would keep trying every hour until she picked up though, she was sure of that. With a sigh, she switched it off and tried to sleep for a few hours, her weariness finally catching up with her. She had lain awake the remainder of the night before, in that rigid hospital bed and tossed and turned in turmoil. Not from any physical pain, not really. She had let both the hospital breakfast and lunch turn cold. Even the sight of the stodgy porridge that early in the morning, had not only made her feel like she was either in prison or that orphanage from "Oliver", but had turned her stomach so much that she threw up over the nurse, who was later trying to coax her into having some soup (which she would have gladly thrown over her too) when her DOCS case worker had introduced her to Irene. That had seemed to be the theme of the day; throwing various liquids over practical strangers.

After an eventual three hours of broken sleep plagued by nightmares – even worse than usual – Trix crept out of the house (the keys weren't hard to find) to look for her surfing gear in the garage. It was still dark, but dawn was close. It wasn't the first time that she had sat on the beach waiting for the sun to come up, before a very early morning surf. Although, it is the first time that she has on this particular beach. It is a new beginning.

She sits thinking over all the things that have occurred since she arrived in Summer Bay. She would've appreciated the effort of Irene, et cetera, if it hadn't been for their misguided intentions. She doesn't deserve their pity. She thinks of Darcy, who is all sweetness and light. She can't remember the last time she had felt like that. Actually, no, she could. It was the day her parents had died – before they had died, obviously. They had been away on a family day out, to the small coastal town where her adoptive father had grown up, not unlike this one. They had spent almost the whole fun-filled day on the beach. She supposed that was why she always felt drawn towards the nearest one, which had previously been in Sydney, because it was the last place they had all been truly happy and carefree – and together.

On the drive home, her seven-year-old self and her adoptive brother, eight-year-old Toby, had been greedy enough to eat all her sweets between them, but he had decided to save his and refused to share. She tried to grab his paper bag from him and a fight had ensued. Their mother (Toby's mother, she wasn't hers – biologically) had taken off her seatbelt to reach into the back seat and take the sweets from him, but he kicked out at her, making her arm jerk back to hit his father's. The car swerved into the on-coming traffic.

They are the only deaths she can bear thinking about right now. It is a dull, familiar pain – more like an ache, really - that she had learned to deal with, to live with, unlike the fresh, raw, stabbing despair of Toby's death that she isn't allowing herself to feel just yet. Not fully, but it would come. She expects it, knows what it will feel like and knows it is only a matter of time. She had caught occasional flickers of the night before, but forced the memories down, only for them to resurface in her nightmares. For the past twelve hours or more she had tried to only reminisce on his life and the memories they shared. That was what she must focus on, to prevent herself from breaking down completely. That is what she still must focus on, for as long as she has strength to. Even through her longest and darkest nights, she had never felt as alone as she did now. At least he had still been there then, a few doors down the hallway; her only comfort. _Now I have Irene_,_ with her pertinacious snoring, _Trix reminds herself, almost forgetting where she is, _but there is still hope_. Immediately, she feels guilty. _Why should you have hope? He doesn't, not anymore. Why should you get a second chance? _Inhaling deeply, she draws the lighter she had taken from Jaden from her pocket and relights the candle – more like a tea light, really – that she had brought with her from Irene's. The flame had flickered out on the way down the path, despite her attempts to shield it from the slight sea breeze. She exhales slowly and steadily as she approaches the shoreline, the water lapping over her toes. The cold shock sends a shiver down her spine. It makes a somewhat welcome change from the raging heat of the fire that lingered on her skin. Before she realises, she has waded in waist deep and stops to put the candle inside an empty jam jar – also stolen from Irene; old habits die hard. She screws the lid closed and sets it upright on her surfboard, her chin keeping it in place, and paddles out as far as she dares to release it on the water, kissing the glass before letting it go. As the golden edge of the sun peers over the skyline, she whispers, _I'm sorry,_ and watches the speck of light drift away.


End file.
